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Oikawa blinks open his eyes only to force them to close when brightness assaults his sensitive corneas. He groans, the sound coming out hoarser than he expects it to. He feels parched, his throat scratchy.
“Tooru?”
Oikawa forces his eyes open again, recognizing the voice as Iwaizumi’s. Or maybe Iwaizumi’s father’s? It was deeper than he remembered. He turns his head, a sudden throbbing coming to the surface around his temple. It’s a small price to pay to see Iwaizumi Hajime beside him.
Iwaizumi looks…different, but there is no doubt in his mind that it’s him. There’s stubble clinging to his jaw, a jaw that looks much sharper. He’s lost more of his baby fat. His hair is styled less starkly. He looks tired too. Really tired.
He’s wearing a suit.
Iwaizumi Hajime would never wear a suit .
“Iwa-chan…?” Oikawa croaks.
Iwaizumi smiles, wide and open, and then he slaps Oikawa’s blanketed leg, earning a squawk from Oikawa. “You bastard. You had us worried sick!”
Oikawa tries to sit up, arms sluggish at his sides as he forces them to work. It feels like they haven’t moved in years. He braces his palms on the bed and hoists himself up. Iwaizumi shoots up to help, sliding a pillow behind his back. Oikawa smiles at him.
He’s in a hospital room. There are tubes sticking out of his right arm, tethering him to something he can’t make out without turning his head. He tries to do so, but the throbbing prevents him from getting too far.
“Don’t push yourself,” Iwaizumi snaps quickly. He’s standing up with his phone. Calling his parents, maybe?
“What happened?” Oikawa asks after a moment.
“Yeah, just, come over quick. Bye.” Iwaizumi turns back around. “What happened? You were a fucking moron is what happened.”
“Language, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tuts, earning a confused look from Iwaizumi. The man--yes man, when did Iwaizumi become a man? He must not have noticed. But Iwaizumi has always been handsome, strong, stunning. But has he always been this sharp? This sturdy? Oikawa thought he was an expert in Iwaizumi. “Why are you wearing a suit?”
“I just got off work.”
“Work?” Oikawa repeats. “Are you working at your dad’s conbini again?”
Iwaizumi stares at him, green eyes squinting. Something dawns on his face then, realization stretching into horror. He leans forward. “Oikawa, do you know how old you are?”
Oikawa blinks. “18. Are you still mad your month of being older than me is over?” he teases.
Iwaizumi doesn’t laugh. He just looks pale. Paler than Oikawa’s ever seen him. Maybe even paler than Oikawa.
And it is at that moment that Ushijima Wakatoshi bursts into the room.
Oikawa crosses his arms in the passenger seat, pointedly looking outside the window. Iwaizumi’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, face drawn into a stern line and eyes straining on the road. Ushijima sits in the back, and his presence feels like a rope around Oikawa’s neck, scratchy and incessant.
He can’t believe this.
Amnesia--that’s what the doctors said when they rushed to the room after hearing the commotion. Typical for traumatic head injuries. Completely normal. How could it be normal to forget ten years of your life? Especially when what he does remember is so vivid. It feels like just yesterday he and Iwaizumi were studying for their upcoming final exams and frothing at the mouth to defeat the monster that is Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Aka, the man sitting right behind him. Even taller than he remembered, face chiseled from stone and oh-so-hateable.
“Maybe seeing the apartment will help,” Iwaizumi says, and it’s the first thing he’s said since Oikawa screamed at Ushijima. The first thing he’s uttered since saying, “What the hell’s wrong with you? It’s Toshi.”
Toshi. Toshi?
The name tastes like acid on Oikawa’s tongue.
“It is messy,” Ushijima says almost apologetically, in his infuriatingly monotone voice. Oikawa can’t stand him.
Oikawa says nothing.
He hasn’t said anything since he screamed, “What did you just call him!?”
That had been the moment Oikawa found out. Had found out that in the ten years of memory he’s missing, he had achieved his dream and his nightmare all at once.
He’s dating Iwaizumi Hajime.
And together they’re somehow dating Ushijima Wakatoshi.
“We’re here,” Iwaizumi announces.
Oikawa admits it’s a nice apartment. The main room has a comfy sectional, a coffee table with coasters, and there are plants in every corner. The drapes match the rug. It’s stylish and well put together. The kitchen is full of dishes, but that’s the only real mess to be seen.
He doesn’t recognize anything.
Ushijima and Iwaizumi share a look. Oikawa hates it because he can’t decipher what it means. He and Iwaizumi are the ones who are supposed to communicate through looks. Not with this intruder .
“I’ll show him his stuff,” Iwaizumi offers.
“I can make tea,” Ushijima replies.
Oikawa scampers after Iwaizumi dutifully. The more space between him and Ushijima, the better. The urge to punch him in his stupid stone face seems to grow at every moment.
Iwaizumi lets him into the bedroom, where a massive bed sits in the center of the room. It’s not made, although Iwaizumi quickly gets to work doing so. Oikawa moves to check out the closet, seeing an array of clothes that appeal to his tastes. At least he hasn’t changed much in this sense.
“Anything?” Iwaizumi asks.
Oikawa shakes his head. He slips into the master bathroom, pausing to stare at his reflection. He’s older. Gaunter--but that must be his week long stay in the hospital’s fault. His hair is greasy and there are bags under his eyes. His features are sharper. There is stubble on his cheeks. He rubs his chin, the scratch along his fingertips unwelcome.
“Can I shower?” Oikawa asks. He’s not sure why he would need permission, but with the way Iwaizumi is tiptoeing around him he can’t help it.
“Yeah! Sure. Do you need help?”
Oikawa reddens. “Showering!?”
Iwaizumi blinks then raises his hands. “You’re always whining about taking showers alone.”
Oikawa must be a tomato right now. “I’m good,” he squeaks.
Iwaizumi smiles and Oikawa thinks he might just die. Does Iwaizumi just smile at him like that? Whenever? Because they’re dating . They’re dating! How many years had he pined for his best friend thinking it could never be? How could this be? Maybe he’s still in a coma.
“Hajime, your cell phone is ringing,” Ushijima calls from the other room.
And just like that he remembers this is actually a nightmare. Especially when Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to miss a beat. Doesn’t even bristle at the fact that Ushijima Wakatoshi just referred to him so intimately. No, instead he just lets out a sigh, one that doesn’t even weigh down that beautiful smile of his, and calls back, “Be right there!”
Oikawa stands in the shower for a long, long time, letting the water run over him. It washes away the grime of the hospital but it does nothing for the foul taste in his mouth. When he dries off he looks in the mirror again and feels a bit better. His eyes haven’t changed. There’s that, at least.
When he comes out of the bedroom he finds Ushijima and Iwaizumi talking in the kitchen, hunkered over the island with their mugs of tea. He can’t hear what they're saying but he doesn’t want to. He wishes he had something handy to throw. Anything to get Ushijima to move his head away from Iwaizumi’s. Oikawa coughs. They look his way.
Ushijima looks at him. “Would you like some?”
Oikawa glares at him. “Why would I want anything from you?” The words are like a reflex.
He expects Iwaizumi to snicker.
Instead, there is only silence. Ushijima nods slowly, like the words have to seep through his skin for him to parse their meaning. Iwaizumi looks tense. He’s frowning. Not the usual cute frown. This one is real. Sincere. Upset.
Oikawa doesn’t care.
“I’m tired,” he says. “I’m going to sleep.”
“Okay,” Iwaizumi responds. “We’ll join you.”
Oikawa bristles, heat rising to his cheeks once more, “I am not sleeping with him !”
“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi hisses.
“Look,” Oikawa snaps, feeling the stress of the day overflow out of him, “I barely know what’s happening. But what I do know is that the infuriating monster there has been ruining my life for years and I don’t want him anywhere near me! I don’t care what, what you say about things changing or whatever. I know me. And I don’t want him near me!”
“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi glares.
Ushijima cuts in, “It’s fine,” he says quietly. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“Toshi,” Iwaizumi starts, and just the sound of that name coming out of Iwaizumi’s mouth is enough for Oikawa to stomp back into the bedroom.
Oikawa hates how long it takes for Iwaizumi to join him. Aren’t they dating? What’s he talking about with Ushijima Wakatoshi of all people? Oikawa is the one that just came out of the hospital. Oikawa is the one in need of care and cuddling.
After ages, it feels, Iwaizumi steps into the room. He looks as tired as Oikawa feels. He slips off his pants and Oikawa can’t help but shyly turn away. He’s seen Iwaizumi naked plenty of times--in the showers, in the locker room--but not like this. Not when they’re apparently more than friends. Not when he looks like this , all built and sharp and muscular.
Iwaizumi slips in to the right of him and Oikawa can’t help but turn to look at him. Iwaizumi is facing him too, green eyes heavy with concern. “Does your head hurt?” he asks softly.
“I feel fine,” Oikawa replies. He can’t help scooching closer. Iwaizumi radiates heat beside him and he longs to lie within his rays.
Oikawa awakens to an empty bed and hammering head. He groans, low and pained, stretching out his limbs. The sheets are cold all around him, pulling a whine from his throat as he tries to nuzzle into his pillow.
“Are you okay?”
He tilts his head up, squinting at Iwaizumi peeking in from the door. He sounds concerned. Oikawa must have been louder than he thought. It’s cute. Sweet. “Aww, is Iwa-chan worried about me?” he sings.
Iwaizumi looks at him. “You just had a traumatic brain injury.”
Oikawa hums sleepily.
“Come get breakfast,” Iwaizumi sighs.
“Carry me,” Oikawa calls, stretching up his arms petulantly. He’s teasing, of course, but to his surprise Iwaizumi steps into the room to do just that. Oikawa’s mind shuts off as chiselled arms worm their way behind his back and behind his knees to hoist him up easily. He wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck instinctively, feeling heat flush down from his cheeks all the way to his chest.
Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to be affected. He only takes a moment to readjust his grip before heading out of the room.
Am I still dreaming? Oikawa wonders.
Ushijima looks up from the stove and his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling, even though his mouth barely twitches upward.
Oikawa scowls.
Ushijima blinks.
Iwaizumi doesn’t notice, instead carefully setting his charge down at the table in one of the seats. Oikawa’s grip around his neck tightens and Iwaizumi smiles, and it’s like Oikawa’s world has stopped. All he can do is just gape, and then Iwaizumi has the gall to laugh too, and he’s just so handsome, and wonderful, and sweet, and how could he deserve this? With everything he’s done wrong, how had he managed to secure this?
Iwaizumi leans in to kiss him, like it’s natural, like they do it all the time, and oh God , they probably do! Do it all the time! Do even more than kissing too!
Oikawa squawks, hands coming up. He accidentally smacks Iwaizumi right on the noise, forcing him to rear back.
“Sorry!” Oikawa hisses out quickly. He hates that Ushijima is witness to him making a fool of himself.
Iwaizumi rubs his nose and waves him off, “You’re fine,” he mutters, “Forgot you don’t remember everything.”
This Iwaizumi is way too nice to him.
Oikawa swallows.
“Hajime, can you grab the rice for me?” Ushijima cuts in casually. So casually! Hajime!
“Sure thing,” Iwaizumi says easily.
Like it’s normal. Like Ushijima cooking in their kitchen is an everyday thing. Oikawa stares at his plate.
He’s quiet for most of the meal, brown eyes glancing between Ushijima and Iwaizumi as they exchange words briefly and infrequently, both comfortable with long stretches of silence. He gathers they have both taken off from work for the rest of the week to take care of him. They both have office jobs for rival companies, Iwaizumi is in finance and Ushijima is in sales. Apparently, Oikawa works at the same company as Ushijima, in marketing.
How...boring.
“What about volleyball?” Oikawa asks sullenly.
“We still play every weekend,” Iwaizumi assures him, patting his back, “and we go see Takeru’s games whenever he plays.”
“Takeru!” Oikawa shouts. “He must be what? Eighteen?”
Iwaizumi nods, “He’s at Tokyo U.”
“Nee-chan must be so proud.”
Iwaizumi hums.
“Your nephew has a lot of promise,” Ushijima agrees.
Oikawa glares at him. “Leave my nephew alone, Ushiwaka.”
Ushijima blinks. Iwaizumi drops his fork. Oikawa stuffs rice into his mouth.
“Oi-” Iwaizumi starts, but Ushijima cuts him off, by standing with his finished plate.
“It’s fine,” he says quickly. “I am going to grab some groceries for lunch. I will be back soon.”
And then he leaves, and Oikawa can’t help the triumphant smirk that paints across his features when the evil is banished. It’s spoiled by the disappointment in Iwaizumi’s green eyes, the repressed anger and in the silence left in the vacuum across the table.
It’s fine . That becomes Ushijima’s mantra for the next few weeks. Every snide comment. Every belittling remark. Every out right shout to keep away. Every concerned look from Iwaizumi.
It’s fine , he says. Because what else is there to say?
Oikawa doesn’t remember. It’s not his fault he doesn’t. He has been plucked from a time in which they were on opposite fields. This was before college brought them all together. This was before time healed all wounds. This was before they fell in love.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
It hurts .
And there is only so much hurt Ushijima’s stone face can take before it begins to crack. His back aches from sleeping crumpled on the couch. He works longer hours to keep from coming home. To keep from seeing the open hostility in Oikawa’s eyes whenever he enters the room. He lies and says it’s to make up for Oikawa’s leave of absence.
And then one night, Oikawa accidentally knocks over the planter in the living room. The dirt spills and the lilies are uprooted, and amongst the mess lie dangerous shards of porcelain. Ushijima comes home to find Oikawa quickly sweeping the disaster into a trash bag before Iwaizumi sees.
“Don’t tell,” Oikawa snaps out, embarrassed. “I had a dizzy spell. But it’s fine. I’m cleaning it up and throwing it out.”
Ushijima feels his hands fall limp at his sides. He can’t bring himself to put back on the shoes he had just slipped off. No, he just turns around and walks out the door once more.
Oikawa only raises an eyebrow, even as guilt festers unfairly in his heart. What’s his problem? he thinks to himself, I’m cleaning it up.
It’s not until Iwaizumi emerges from his shower and sees the carnage that it becomes clear. “You threw the lilies out?”
“They were covered in shards,” Oikawa huffs. “I didn’t want to cut myself.”
Iwaizumi presses his lips into a thin line, “Toshi gave those to you, on our anniversary, and you planted them, to surprise him right back.”
“Oh,” Oikawa replies, bristling a bit at the thought. He covers up the guilt with anger, an emotion he is much more comfortable spitting at Ushijima, “Well, how was I supposed to know? I don’t remember.”
“You could try ,” Iwaizumi shouts right back, and it’s the harshest Iwaizumi has sounded since Oikawa woke. “You could ask , you could even, I don’t know, talk to him ?”
Oikawa takes a step back, “Why would I want to talk to Ushiwaka?”
Iwaizumi grits his teeth. “Because he’s our boyfriend, Tooru! And he loves you , and you, you doing this to him is killing him!”
Oikawa peels his own lips back. “Well, maybe the old Tooru did, but I certainly don’t.”
Iwaizumi stares at him, “Don’t say that,” he hisses. “God, we need to clean this up before he sees.”
“He already saw,” Oikawa snaps back, “before you came out, he saw and he just left.”
Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to care that he’s just showered, that his hair is still wet, that he’s already changed into his pajamas. None of that seems to register as he bolts right out the door calling Ushijima Wakatoshi’s name, and leaving Oikawa Tooru alone.
Oikawa hesitates, guilt pooling in his stomach at the anguish painted on Iwaizumi’s face as he runs. Even though it’s not his fault. It’s not his fault he can’t remember. It’s not his fault that he’d had a dizzy spell and knocked the damn plant over. Why should he feel guilty?
He grits his teeth. Because he does. He does feel guilty. With a huff he shoves on his shoes, storming out the door after Iwaizumi.
He finds the pair by the bridge, leaning against the railing. Oikawa hangs back, suddenly unsure of what his goal was in following them. To confront them? To apologize? No. He has nothing to feel sorry for.
And then Ushijima turns to face Iwaizumi, and Oikawa catches his face and something catches in his own throat because--because Ushijima Wakatoshi is crying .
He’d always imagined the euphoria of seeing his long time opponent in tears. The adrenaline rush of finally besting him. Of finally wiping the smug confidence off his stupid stony face.
There is no euphoria here.
There is only the crushing swell of self-hatred sloshing in his gut.
“Toshi, I’m sorry ,” Iwaizumi is saying, and he sounds like Oikawa feels. Maybe worse.
Ushijima swallows thickly, shaking his head, “It is not your fault.” He wipes his tears with his fist, but his eyes still glint with them. “Perhaps, I should, I should leave.”
“What?” Iwaizumi responds. “You can’t do that. This is your home too. He doesn’t mean this. He’s just confused. He just needs more time and--”
“What if he doesn’t remember?” Ushijima interrupts. “What if he never remembers? What then?”
Iwaizumi has no response.
Ushijima looks back out at the sea, the lights of the city reflected in the calm waves. “I can not live like this.”
Iwaizumi says nothing for a long time. He leans against the rail, his face turned away so that Oikawa can not see him. But then, oh so faintly, Iwaizumi asks, “What about me?”
Ushijima bends down, pressing his forehead into the cool metal of the railing. “I love you.”
“So stay ,” Iwaizumi insists, and Oikawa hates the desperate quality in his voice. “I won’t let him treat you this way a moment longer. I promise .”
Ushijima shakes his head. “Hajime, he’s still hurt and suffering. He needs you. He needs you on his side.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Iwaizumi snaps back. “I’m on my side. Don’t say that. I won’t choose. And he needs you just as much as he needs me. He just, he just doesn’t realize it yet.”
Ushijima lifts his head, turning it to look at Iwaizumi. Even in the dim light of the street lamps Oikawa is caught off guard by those golden eyes and how they look at Iwaizumi. Gilded with admiration and sorrow and love . Ushijima loves him.
“Your faith has always impressed me,” Ushijima confesses.
Iwaizumi doesn’t answer with words, instead he leans in to kiss him. Oikawa holds his breath, watching the pair sink into each other, until they seem to melt with the backdrop of the sea. When they pull away he hears Iwaizumi say, “I miss you.”
“I will try a little longer,” Ushijima decides, “But I do not know for how long I can try.”
Oikawa turns away. His heart beats like a nightmare in his chest trying to take flight. He wants to make sure he gets home before they do. He doesn’t want them to suspect him of overhearing. When he does slip back into their apartment he finds himself exhausted. He’s lost his appetite. In fact, all he does is shed his clothes to the floor to slip into bed.
He hears Ushijima and Iwaizumi enter. He hears them call for him and he does not respond. Iwaizumi creaks open the bedroom door and Oikawa pretends to be asleep. Iwaizumi doesn’t bother investigating further.
Iwaizumi doesn’t come to bed for a long time. Oikawa tries to stay up. His stomach continues to churn and part of him wants to get up to vomit. He can’t bear to leave the covers. Instead, he occupies himself with his phone and does something he should have done when he first woke up.
He opens up his social media and starts investigating the life he has lived these past ten years.
It’s not miraculous. It’s not fixed by any means. But it’s better than it has been.
Iwaizumi buys an air mattress and Ushijima sleeps there at night. Sometimes, Iwaizumi even joins him. Oikawa doesn’t complain. Although, every night spent cold and alone tempts him further to crawl in between them. He’s still not ready to do so.
The pictures that crowd his social media feed are unfamiliar. They do not spark some sort of grand domino effect of memory. But they do comfort him. They’re proof that Iwaizumi is not lying to him.
The pictures paint a happy life. A successful college career, an exciting stint in volleyball and a blossoming relationship. There are images of the three of them on the beach, enjoying the summer sun and roughhousing in the water. There are candid moments of him leaning into Ushijima’s face to kiss him.
He can’t look at those for long before getting a headache, as if even his brain is frustrated with itself that he can’t remember. When that happens Iwaizumi is there with a mug of tea and a story to share. Ushijima is there too, a little distant, but offering pieces where he can.
Oikawa doesn’t push him away, nor does he pull him closer. There are times where he wants to. Where he and Ushijima are alone and he can feel the man’s sad gaze on the back of his neck. But then his teenage pride festers in his gut, coating his heart with acid. He can’t bring himself to turn around.
And then, one day, they all go to a restaurant together for a change of pace. They grab a booth, Oikawa and Iwaizumi on one side while Ushijima sits on the other. Iwaizumi tells him that this used to be one of his favorite places and Oikawa makes a teasing remark about his own good taste. It earns him a snort of a laugh that warms him up inside.
Oikawa starts chatting about nothing and everything. He talks about the documents from work he’s reading, how they seem to just click into place and make sense immediately. He talks about wanting to contact his old university to see if he can get access to his old course lectures and listen to them. He talks like he always used to with Iwaizumi, and he doesn’t even mind that Ushijima is listening too.
Their waitress appears amidst his rambles and he quiets down only long enough for her to set down their plates.
“Eat before it gets cold,” Iwaizumi chides him.
“You’re not my mom, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa snorts, picking up his chopsticks to shove some rice into his mouth. “I’m not done with my story. Or do you not want to hear about how Takeru’s doing?”
Iwaizumi lets out a sigh but Oikawa catches the smile he directs at Ushijima. The action makes him warm, but only if he doesn’t try to dwell on it too much. So, he continues, “I still can’t believe he’s in college. I’m trying to convince him to send me his password so I can download his readings.”
He lifts up his plate as he prattles on, using his chopsticks to shift his pile of string beans onto Ushijima’s plate. He doesn’t miss a beat of his story as he does so, but for the pair with him the world seems to stop.
“Why did you do that?” Ushijima interrupts, putting his own chopsticks down.
Oikawa blinks, almost as if he didn’t register doing anything abnormal. He looks down at the string beans and says, almost instinctively, “They’re your favorite.”
Something overtakes Ushijima’s face, like a ripple of water over a pebbled stream. It distorts his expression for only a moment, but Oikawa has the image seared in his mind forever (hopefully).
Ushijima looks down at his meal as if he is unable to meet Oikawa’s eyes.
“Thank you,” he says, and Oikawa can’t help but smile. The smile doesn’t leave him the rest of the meal, nor the rest of the night. And when Iwaizumi kisses him that night he feels compelled to kiss him back.
So what if he doesn’t remember. So what if he might never remember. At least he gets the pleasure of falling in love all over again.